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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138332">We Have Much to Hope from the Roses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alachat/pseuds/alachat'>alachat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, guest starring the olympics team, rom-com adjacent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:22:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alachat/pseuds/alachat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>What do you usually say while watching your unrequited love almost 10 years in the making receive a bouquet of roses that screams romantic intentions and romantic intentions only?</p>
</blockquote><br/>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hakuba Gao/Hoshiumi Kourai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We Have Much to Hope from the Roses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bouquet sits majestically on the bench in the locker room, looking expensively simple. 100 fresh roses as red as their uniform, long-stemmed, barely bloomed, tied together by a single black ribbon. There’s a card in the middle, also black, with a name printed in fancy type: Hoshiumi Kourai. Nothing else. No sender, no address. </p><p>Needless to say, it removes a fair amount of screws from the heads of the Japan Men’s Volleyball Olympians. All 12 of them, top professional athletes in their mid-twenties, card-carrying members of the monster generation with muscles of steel and minds of diamond, stand absolutely petrified as if they were looking at what's left of a crime scene before the forensic cleaners arrive.</p><p>Miya is the first to open his mouth: “Holy shit.”</p><p>Ojiro smacks his bleached head, eyes not moving away from the pool of red.</p><p>Hyakuzawa, the most well-adjusted of them all, is the first to recover: "They are very nice flowers, Hoshiumi-<em>san</em>."</p><p>Ushijima helpfully supplies: "Hybrid tea roses. They have little scent." </p><p>That explains why they are not choking. </p><p>The more lively amongst them finally pick up their jaws.</p><p>Hinata, suave as ever, blesses the room with his megawatt smile: “Waaaaaa, this is amazing, Hoshiumi-<em>san</em>!”</p><p>Yaku pats Hoshiumi's back not very gently: "Look at you, having a secret admirer."</p><p>Bokuto whispers from the top of his lungs: "It looks mega expensive. Someone must really have the hots for you, Hoshiumi."</p><p>In the middle of it all, Hoshiumi remains still, eyes wide in a dream only half-believed. He stares at the bouquet like it was an unidentified object falling from the sky right into his lap, like it was about to open 100 eyes and quiz him about the different cuisines the Olympics dining halls are going to serve. He stares at the card like it wasn't his name on it, and he was having trouble reading the characters. But that can’t be it, because he’s also visibly, undeniably, hilariously turning bright red. </p><p>Komori elbows Sakusa to make sure his cousin is still breathing in the face of this rom-com premise that would ultimately lead to ruins.</p><p>Next to Hoshiumi, in full view of the blush creeping up his neck like a rambling rose, Gao tries to rearrange his facial features into something that resembles a smirk. What’s the first step? Raise the left corner of the mouth. That’s more like it. What about the brows? Do they knit together? Should he squint his eyes or open them wide? Maybe he should say something, as soon as he can untangle his vocal cords. But what do you usually say while watching your unrequited love almost 10 years in the making receive a bouquet of roses that screams romantic intentions and romantic intentions only?</p><p>It's Kageyama who delivers the trillion-<em>yen</em> question that’s been stabbing everyone from the inside: "Who do you think sent it, Hoshiumi-<em>san</em>?"</p><p>---</p><p>Hoshiumi Kourai is made of oxymorons. He’s short, but when he jumps he’s taller than everyone on the court. He’s loud, but like every storm there’s an eye at his core, quiet and calm. He’s strong, because he’s built from weaknesses. He’s proud, because he’s been humbled by fate, by luck, by the cards he was dealt. </p><p>So naturally, Hakuba Gao’s feelings for Hoshiumi are also contradictions stacked sky high like an impossible Jenga tower. He spent his high school years looking down at Hoshiumi’s wild pointy hairdo and looking up at his glorious, perfect spiking form in the air. He let every indignant squeak coming out of Hoshiumi’s mouth roll off him like water off a duck’s back but drank in every word he said on the court like they were chilled lemonade and he a kid with his throat parched by the summer sun. He threw out insults and jibes as though they had been the first things in his mind, but what really filled his head were the way Hoshiumi wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, the shape of his glutes and quadriceps when he squatted down for a jump, the starlight in his eyes when he made vows he would keep without fail. </p><p>And when Hoshiumi asked him if he would continue with volleyball at the end of their last high school match, he wanted to say yes, because Hoshiumi had made him fall in love with volleyball, because he wanted to follow Hoshiumi to the very end, wanted to be in the same orbit with him, wanted to see him jump and spike and rule the sky from up close, as many times as possible. So he said:</p><p>“Of course. I will squash you like a bug in the V.League as well.”</p><p>He knew it was juvenile saying mean things to the guy he had a crush on. He could see Hirugami's unimpressed, slow-motion blinks right behind Hoshiumi. But this — the jibe, the provocation, the affected bravado, the repressed longing — this was what routine dictated.</p><p>And routine rewarded, for Hoshiumi looked at him with starlight in his eyes and a grin that split his face and Gao's reason in half. </p><p>"Not if I squash you first."</p><p>---</p><p>A minute after Hoshiumi takes a photo of the bouquet, Gao receives a message from Hirugami:</p><p>"I didn't send it." </p><p>"I didn't even ask." He doesn't know which expression he should school his face into anymore. He doesn't even know which expression his face is making. Really, which expression corresponds to the ill-landed somersaults your stomach insists on doing when you are hit with the realisation that there is someone actively pursuing the love of your life, someone better, braver than you but thankfully not said love's high-spec best friend since forever?</p><p>"No, but I know what you are thinking. Because it's been 10 years, and you're an idiot, and Kourai-<em>kun</em> is stubborn. It's the recipe for a tragedy with the highest comedy value."</p><p>---</p><p>The rumour mill works fast enough to give the devil motion sickness. By 10, news of Hoshiumi's secret admirer has spread quite extensively throughout the Training Centre, the Association, the tabloids, and the internet. The rest of V.League have attacked their LINE with sweet messages asking for photos of the notorious bouquet and innocent remarks aiming to poke their ribs and make them drop the pots, the cups, the mugs of tea that none of them are holding. Hoshiumi's manager doesn't enjoy the attention for good reasons, but Kuroo from the Sports Promotion Division says this is an unparalleled occasion for publicity. Nothing makes people stop and stare like grand declarations of affection and their complete disregard for the people directly involved. </p><p>By noon, rumours hotter than actual tea floods the volleyball world. </p><p>Hoshiumi doesn't look like he minds them much. He kills more than half of Miya's serves as always and continues to lord it over the blockers like they were churlish elementary kids who had the gall to provoke him. </p><p>Gao, on the other hand, is a mess. And that's an understatement. He seems to forget that volleyball requires jumping most of the time, that there's always a ball flying at an insane speed from every direction, and that he has legs and arms that are muscles and bones and actually functional. He moves as if time flowed a minute slower for his body than for his mind, completely out of sync. His eyes repel both the ball and Hoshiumi like they were all magnets of the same poles. He can hear Hoshiumi's stare throwing daggers at him, more lethal than any weapons or coaches' reproach, and he knows this won't end well.</p><p>But please forgive Gao and his disastrous performance, since he has just been scalded. </p><p>Did the sport journalist send the roses? </p><p>
  <em>Of course not! Enaga-san is a professional, and their relationship is strictly business.</em>
</p><p>Was it the <em>mangaka</em> who is writing an entire series about Hoshiumi? </p><p><em>You really think a </em>mangaka<em> with an ongoing series in a weekly magazine has the time for this?</em></p><p>How about the gorgeous model siblings who often show up in V.League campaigns with the team?<br/> <br/><em>They are Yaku’s friends.</em></p><p>The excellent designer who is responsible for the V.League posters?</p><p>
  <em>She's a business partner. And Hinata and Kageyama's former schoolmate.</em>
</p><p>The beautiful lady with light-coloured hair and big round eyes who sometimes accompanies him to matches?</p><p>
  <em>That's his mum for God's sake!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>---</em>
</p><p>Hoshiumi Kourai is a much stronger man than Hakuba Gao. This is a fact Gao never forgets, having witnessed Hoshiumi knock down giants on his way to take over the whole world. The strength packed in his limbs, his heart, his mind can bulldoze an entire army and in its wake leave only awe and reverence. </p><p>At the moment Hoshiumi the giant slayer is standing in front of Gao with his stare heavier than solid gold, and Gao feels both tiny and claustrophobic in this empty locker room built for a squadron. He wonders which part this is: the tragedy or the comedy. </p><p>"Did you send the roses?" They are in the eye of Hoshiumi's storm, quiet and calm. But one wrong step and into the raging tempest you go. </p><p>Gao thinks he no longer owns a face. His features refuse to move the way he desperately wants them to do. The mouth flattens into a tight line instead of curving upwards. The brows stay put in their places, Botox rendered completely unnecessary. The eyes open wide and cannot turn away, held down tightly by Hoshiumi's stare. </p><p>Routine dictates, and routine rewards. Gao knows that he has an entire repertoire of snide remarks that will allow him to stay in character and get him out of this situation with at least his limbs intact. But when he looks at Hoshiumi, his mind is green with the afterimage of the roses and a feeling that once again ties his vocal cords into multiple knots. </p><p>He tries to clear his voice. Hoshiumi is still staring, his face uncannily passive. His eyes drill a hole into Gao's head and make him want to either run away or kiss the living hell out of Hoshiumi.</p><p>"No." He swallows the insults born out of habits. The locker room, usually the most noisy place on Earth with its resident rabble-rousers, is eerily silent. The harsh fluorescent lights hum a requiem for the impossible Jenga tower.</p><p>"Then why were you like that during practice?" Why did he walk around like he was in a daydream? Why did he act half forlorn, half mournful, and a hundred percent devastated? Why has he been spending a decade wrapping his love in barbs and spikes? Why he? Why Hoshiumi? Why are both of them stuck in this travesty of a rom-com that has close to no plot nor script and he doesn't know what to do?  </p><p>In his head, Hirugami's voice buzzes, "Because you're an idiot." Gao grimaces. </p><p>After a beat, it adds, "And Kourai-<em>kun</em> is stubborn." Gao squeezes his eyes shut and offers his neck. </p><p>"Because I want to be the one who sends you roses." He sounds like a teenager with a crush and not a man with a decade old love, and he can almost see Hirugami shake his head in slow-motion, utterly unimpressed. </p><p>Unable to bear the imaginary Hirugami's silent judgment, Gao opens his eyes and steels himself to face the finale.</p><p>But all he can see is rambling roses. </p><p>Hoshiumi is visibly, undeniably, hilariously turning bright red. His eyes open as wide as physically possible, and he's now staring at a random point in his mindscape like he always does when he wants to contemplate things that are incomprehensible. The sight makes Gao's stomach do cartwheels with one hand first, then with no hand. Then his mind follows suit, and the world turns upside down and inside out and there's a chance that he can make it to the end of the day with his limbs and his heart intact. </p><p>What if he had done this sooner? In a silence uncharacteristic of them both, Gao cannot but spare a braincell to wonder. Would this head-to-head, barely heart-to-heart, have happened 1 year ago, 5 years ago, when they first met and he fell for the starlight in Hoshiumi's eyes?</p><p>Or are they finally here only because of those 10 years of petty arguments and withheld desires? Has building the impossible Jenga tower been time well-spent, so that one day, today, he can climb to the sky and reach for one particular star?</p><p>"I like azaleas." Hoshiumi still only half stares at him, but he offers that reason smashing grin and vanquishes Gao's last braincell. </p><p>---</p><p>"You owe me."</p><p>"I transferred you the money yesterday."</p><p>"Yes, but what about all the effort I have expended to order that monster of a bouquet, have it delivered prettily to the Training Centre, clean up the rumours, and essentially play Cupid on your behalf without giving myself away?"</p><p>"Fine, what do you want?"</p><p>"Dinner. This Saturday."</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>"Why did you do it anyway?"</p><p>"Because," and Yaku Morisuke says this with so much affection that it spills out of his entire being and drenches even the orange glow of twilight: "I know the kind of love language they are speaking."</p><p>At this Kuroo Tetsurou can only laugh with unbearable fondness: "Just say you want them to suffer."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading.</p><p>I deleted the drafts for this fic 4 times, yet here we are. </p><p>The title is pilfered from The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, The Naval Treaty, because I'm incapable of coming up with my own. </p><p>I'm on <a href="https://twitter.com/alachat_">Twitter</a> or <a href="https://curiouscat.me/alachat_">CC</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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